


More than Yesterday

by Oparu



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beverly has a birthday party, Jean-Luc has homework, they have breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More than Yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> for Tasha, because she's a day older today. ;) (and yes, I can write het, on special occasions)

_22:13 - Tuesday_

She doesn't mind the party. Will and Deanna have a real knack for throwing them and it was truly kind of Guinan to put up theatrical masks and symbols for at least thirty different cultures all over Ten Forward. There's cake, and it's good cake, chocolate to the point of raised blood pressure and heart attacks. She does like birthdays.

If people didn't keep coming up and congratulating her, she'd like her own more. She could, quite happily, let it all go and pretend it's Deanna's birthday, or Geordi's and relax into it. Having it be hers makes her the centre of attention and that's not the easiest place to be when she's Beverly and not on stage. 

She sips her drink, mingles with Will and Worf as they share stories of birthdays gone horribly wrong: something more likely in Klingon culture. Geordi laughs and even Ensign Ro has a smile or two. She listens but has little to add. When her birthdays go wrong usually someone dies and that's not worth mentioning. Not today, when the music is cheerful and the walls draped in colour. Today's for celebrating, so she does. 

She glances around, half-listening to the story. She has to make sure everyone's having a good time (they are) and she could probably relax, sit down, listen to more stories and laugh and forget all about it being her birthday just by having a good time. 

Looking around, her eyes fall on Jean-Luc, whom she knew was here, he arrived, kissed her cheek and mingled, but she hasn't spoken to him in the last hour. He brought her whisky from the moors of Declan VII, a rare vintage that she's sure Nana will expound about in great detail. It smells of alien heather, and she thinks Nana will approve. 

For some reason, he's sitting in the corner, tea instead of a drink on the table in front of him. She wanders over, taking a glass of something bubbly from one of Guinan's waiters and settles down next to him. 

"Looks fascinating."

Jean-Luc looks up, smiling. His eyes have that soft, lost look that makes her heart warm in her chest. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?"

"I'm ignoring your party."

"My party is doing quite well without you, believe it or not." 

They share a mutual glance around the room, and yes, people are laughing and talking and her cake is quickly disappearing. Will and his band are starting up in the corner, Deanna's teaching Data to swing dance (something Beverly hasn't gotten to yet) and it's a good party: one of the better birthday parties this year. 

"It appears so." His smile softens and widens, full of genuine happiness for his crew. 

Beverly knows that look, she's had that look about Wesley. Thinking of him makes her change the subject.

"Wesley called from the Academy."

"Oh?"

"He asked me to thank you for your notes on Commander T'Sorna's pre-Federation galactic history exam. You were right, she still hasn't changed her lectures."

Jean-Luc chuckles, crinkling the corners of his eyes with mirth. "How long has she been teaching that class?"

"And how many people have passed the exam with your notes?"

He sets down his PADD, shaking his head. "I have to confess they're not even mine. I got them from Walker, who got them from a very dedicated Andorian he shared a room with."

"Still, they are very good notes."

"I'm glad they still help." He accepts a glass of the bubbling cocktail when the waiter passes again and clinks his glass against hers. "Good for Wesley. As if we had any doubts."

"I think he did."

Jean-Luc holds his glass close to his chest. "He hadn't mentioned any."

"Does he ever?"

He nods. "I see your point. Still, he has no reason for concern. He's been nothing short of exemplary at the Academy since he arrived. You should be very proud."

"I am. I really am. Sometimes I have to remind myself that he's my son, not the other way around. He needs so little."

"My mother used to say that as soon as she thought I wouldn't need her at all, I became the kind of man who liked his mother to call once a week, just to check up on him." 

Beverly shifts on the soft bench, lifting up her legs. Her side is firmly pressed against his and between him and the cocktail it's deliciously warm. "You loved her letters."

"Every one. So much wisdom in those communiques. I don't know if I'll ever have the chance to explore how to make proper dauphinoise." 

"Does this mean I'm a failure as a mother for not including recipes?" 

He rests his hand on hers, fingers just above her thigh. "Beverly--"

"All right. All right. I just--"

"Welsey is an exceptional young man who's going to be a very fine officer someday, and that has been greatly encouraged by his extraordinary mother."

"Who can't cook."

"You replicate at excellent spanish omelette."

Beverly clinks her glass against his. "Maybe I'll send him that recipe. He can have breakfast with a nice young lady."

Jean-Luc chuckles with her. It isn't until their eyes meet that she realises that unlike her breakfasts with him, Wesley probably has his companions sleep over.

What is it she sees in his eyes? Envy? Resignation? Hope?

"I highly recommend good company for breakfast. I shall tell him so in my next letter."

She steals the PADD from his lap and starts to read. "A xenobiology text? This is what's taking you from my party?"

He winces. "I have to pass my annual review and the only part of it that's giving me pause is the xenobiology. Why I need to know so much about it when I have you--"

"Oh flattery will get you everywhere, Jean-Luc." She turns her hand over, squeezing the fingers that were just on top of hers. "Captains need to have a basic understanding of xenobiology so you don't being diplomatic relations with a firm handshake that ends in cracked bones in the wingfingers of a Hruktischa, or tell the kitchen to serve poisonous starches to the Xelatian delegation."

"Something I appreciate in theory."

"Do you need any help?" She's almost surprised he didn't ask. Probably thought she wouldn't have time.

"Are you offering to tutor me in the finer points of cobalt-based blood chemistry?"

"Purely out of my own self-interest in keeping you captain of the _Enterprise_. A position you'll surely lose if you turn this in like this. Really Jean-Luc, you can remember obscure lines of poetry but not the basic blood cofactors of a Vulcan?"

"Putting numbers in with letters makes even less sense than either on their own."

She finishes the last of her drink and sets the cup aside. Beverly reluctantly extracts her hand, but his remains on her thigh. "See here? They list all the Vulcan blood types?"

"Everything from T-negative to Zu-five and Zq-seven?"

"Just ignore the numbers. It's just like human blood, We have A, B, AB and O as the main types, they have Zu, Zq, U and T but T is very rare because it's recessive, just like you'd need two parents with type O expressed somewhere in their genotype to have a type O offspring in humans, you'd need two Vulcan parents with type T to have a type T offspring. The numbers come from the type of antibodies present, and really aren't important unless you're approving a blood or tissue transplant. A Zu-six and a Zu-five are perfectly compatible. Now, the big difference between them and Romulans is that a Romulans have lost blood type T entirely and now have a new blood type mutation of type Rs, which can be found in Vulcans only if crossbred with another recessive individual."

She pauses, making sure he understands. 

"A Vulcan with type T could have a hybrid child of type T with a Romulan?"

"Provided that Romulan was type Rs, certainly."

"Well, that's not as bad as it looked." He takes the PADD back and keys in an acceptable answer to the question. 

"What else is on there?"

"Andorian digestion, dealing with aquatic species. New protocols for crew fraternization with first contact species."

She smirks and waves down another drink. "That must be fun to memorise."

"I've always been good with protocol."

Passing him another cocktail, she steals the PADD back to scroll through. "I suppose yours are identical to mine?"

"Given your approval that both species are compatible and proper precautions are taken, I must make the final decision as too the cultural ramifications."

"You do know first contact with Risa apparently ended with all the rules at the time broken?"

"It was a different era."

He leans over her shoulder to read. "One whose excesses and missteps are the reasons behind annual evaluations and interspecies fraternization protocols."

"Lucky us."

"It's the tradeoff for reliable transporters, holodecks and advanced food replicators."

"Are you saying everything good comes with paperwork?"

He turns, his face so close to hers that she could kiss him without a second thought. "I might be. How cynical I've become."

"I think there's still a romantic in there somewhere, beneath the terrible doctor. You need to look at question one-eight-five again. You've put his liver in the wrong place."

"Oh?"

"He can't breath with it now, can he?"

"Depends on the liver."

After that question, there's one on intoxicating beverages and another on intoxicating types of fungi that might be present in standard Federation dishes that could be dangerous to some species. They work through them, sometimes arguing, but he's a good student, patient as she explains and quick to catch on once she's put it in laymen's terms. The music stops, and they applaud the end of the set. Ten Forward quiets down but the drinks keep coming and after awhile, his test looks much more like something a captain can turn in with pride. 

The lights are low and Guinan's staff has cleaned up all of the decorations. The rest of the cake is gone and everyone else seems to be. Beverly searches the lounge, looking for anyone else. There are two lieutenants in the corner, another couple by the window. A few lonely souls, and the two of them.

"What time is it?"

Jean-Luc taps the PADD and brings up the time. "Just after oh-two-hundred."

"No."

He tilts it in her direction. "It seems xenobiology is good company."

"I have my own medical wonders to keep me up all night. I intend to blame you."

"I graciously accept all responsibility."

"If that extends to moving the staff meeting up to oh-nine-hundred, I approve."

"Maybe even ten. Captain's prerogative and all." He finishes the last of his drink and stands, offering her his arm. "Allow me to walk you back to your quarters?"

"Always."

She catches Guinan's eye on them and smiles. For some reason there's an extra warmth in her face. "Why didn't you ask me sooner?"

"I didn't want to trouble you. Any member of your staff, or Data, could have answered all of my questions without taking my chief medical officer from her work."

"What about taking advantage of the abilities of a friend?"

"Perhaps that was more difficult than abusing my position."

She pats his cheek, shaking her head. "My mental faculties are always at your disposal. Ask me the moment it arrives next year and we'll work through it. You me, xenobiology and a whole bottle of wine." 

"I'll add it to my calendar."

Maybe it's the synthehol or the late hour, but she holds him a little tighter as they leave the lift on deck eight. It's only a few more steps to her quarters and they both slow. 

Any other day, she'd debate, but she still has some use for her birthday. "Come in, I have this incredible bottle of whisky."

"You left this year's gifts in Ten Forward."

"Still have last year's." She opens the doors to her quarters, tugging him gently closer. "Come in, have a nightcap, listen to the woes of your best friend now that she's a day older than she was yesterday."

"I think it suits you. You've looked beautiful for the last few hours." He's over the threshold and the door hisses shut behind him. 

"Better than yesterday?" 

"At the risk of sounding too romantic, yes, I'd say you have the rare gift of improving with the days."

Beverly sets whisky in front of him in a neat tumbler and smirks. "I do think that's one of the more ludicrous and incredible compliments anyone's ever paid me."

"You did just help me save my career from a messy ruin over Vulcan blood types." He lifts his glass and sniffs it. "Someone has good taste."

"You do."

He has the good nature to flush with embarrassment but it suits him. There's an innocence to his surprise that's absolutely appealing. Beverly sits on the sofa next to him, lifting whisky in a toast. 

"To days better than our yesterdays."

Jean-Luc approves. "Better than yesterdays."

The whisky runs hot down her throat, and she shivers. "Where do you find these?"

"Guinan, old friends from my disreputable youth, I think it wouldn't surprise you to know that archaeologists are an excellent resource for spirits."

"I knew there was a reason you keep digging tunnels. You're in search of fine liquors, aren't you?"

"You've caught us."

She lifts the elegant glass bottle to pour again. It's a warm brown with hints of purple, truly beautiful in the weak light. 

He raises his glass, looking straight at her. He has the kind of gaze that looks right through her, always has. "Happy Birthday."

"You're a day late."

Jean-Luc leans close, rubbing his thumb across her chin. "My apologies." 

Here they are again, moments from choosing a direction, going another way, spending another long set of days as friends instead of lovers. 

Beverly doesn't usually want, or need anything for her birthday. She likes cake, and giving her friends a chance to celebrate, but she doesn't need more in her life. It's a good life and she's proud of it.

It's just…well, there's something about him. Something she's been letting go by that she's sick of putting off. So she kisses him. She crosses the invisible line drawn between them. She presses her lips to his. He shifts in surprise and when she doesn't move, when the friendly kiss turns into something of parted lips and exploring tongues, he sets down her drink and grabs her shoulder.

There's that rustling of fabric against skin. The ever-so-pleasant sensation of a hand on her chest and the connection that comes from seeing need reflected in his eyes. 

"Beverly." His forehead rests against hers, his breath warm on her cheek.

"We can fill out the fraternization paperwork in the morning, give us something to do over breakfast." She kisses him again, before he can protest. Why does she forget how incredible kissing is? How does something like this slip her mind between relationships and lovers? 

Maybe this is different. Maybe this has an added level of emotion she just wasn't thinking about. She certainly wasn't planning on seducing him, if such thing could even happen between the two of them. He's tentative for a moment more, then she stops, finding her breath.  
   
"I don't intend to regret this in the morning."

"I don't think I could."

She leans in, sliding up the skirt of her dress so he can touch her thigh. "Then enjoy it. I intend to."  


* * *

 _08:36 - Wednesday_

She sits across from him at the table.  He's wearing her robe, the pale pink one, and it's open across his shoulder.  It could look foolish, but he looks oddly good in pink.  

Jean-Luc passes her a croissant, smiling.  "What?" 

"You look good in pink."

Now he laughs, reaching across the table for her hand.  "I was just thinking you're beautiful."

Her hair's still a mess, tumbled in a mass of post-coital curls. She's wearing the nightgown Deanna found for her. Something much more revealing of her chest than she'd usually wear, but after last night, she could eat naked in front of him.

"I'd argue with your definition of beautiful, but thank you."

"You would argue, wouldn't you?" He squeezes her hand and reaches for his coffee.  "That's part of your appeal."

"I argue?"

"You have no idea how beautiful you are. Which gives me license to mention it at every opportunity."

"You are a romantic."

He smiles again, secretive.  "Certain circumstances bring it out."

She leaves her chair and circles the table, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding him tight.  Beverly kisses his cheek. "I love it."  

She loves the whole thing, the memory of his body against hers, waking up with him already getting coffee from the replicator and him.  The way he sits across the table from her and adores her without pause.

"When's the staff meeting?"

"Ten."

She turns his chair and eases him up.  "Then come back to bed."

He raises his eyebrows, then kisses her, deep and already familiar.  "Yes, sir."


End file.
